Drinking with Death
by himitsutsubasa
Summary: A lonely man sits down at a bar and has a drink with Death.


Welcome to the odd ball.

* * *

He glanced at the hand that slid into the edge of his vision.

"Hello, darling."

The dark haired man snorted. "When did I become your 'darling', Mr. Eames?"

"I think that was when you stole my heart?" Eames smiled gently turning to the not-so stranger before him.

Arthur slipped a beer bottle across the polished counter to him and took his own drink. "That case was a shame, a triple blow to the head, blunt force trauma to the chest, and three bullets in your leg." Arthur sighed wistfully into his glass. He didn't even have to consult his log to know the specifics about Eames's potential death date.

Eames put a hand over his heart. "Arthur, you wound me." The other man snickered at his bad pun.

"What brings you to this bloody hovel?" Eames asked scanning the bar.

Arthur followed his eyes. "Well, I was told that someone was going to get into a bar fight and loose his head."

"Not me I hope." Eames sipped his beer.

Arthur sipped his rum and muttered, "Not you, sadly. Mark's that bloke over there, black v-neck and bomber jacket."

Eames glanced to the muscular man by the bar's old jukebox and wrinkled his nose. "Val. Man always looked like a loose cannon to me, wore product in his hair."

Arthur sniffed. "I wear product in my hair."

"Well, I didn't know that." Eames gestured to Arthur's immaculate three piece suit and styled hair. "I only know this astral-form of yours and you look like Joseph Gordon-Levitt."

Arthur grimaced. Eames raised his hands in mock surrender. "Not that I'm complaining, he's got a great arse. I just don't know what you really look like."

"Hey, mate, are you feeling alright?" The bartender, Jamie, gave him a curious look.

"Yeah, sorry, long day." Jamie rolled his eyes and muttered "nutter" under his breath.

"Arthur, could you remind me that you don't exist? How did you get that drink?" Eames dropped his voice low enough to not be heard by the other patrons. Arthur leaned in a little, probably out of habit.

"I do exist, Eames, just not here. I am also capable of moving things." Arthur sighed, like he was lecturing to a schoolchild.

Eames rubbed his face. He looked around the bar to be sure no one was watching. "So you poured yourself rum? Heavens, Arthur, I've run into you a few dozen times in the past few years and you tell me this now?"

"I thought you'd figured that out." Arthur crossed his arms, eyebrow raised.

Eames leaned more heavily on the counter. He popped a peanut in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Arthur, I'm starting to think I'm some sort of loony or a Gary Stu or something. You'd tell me if that was happening, right?"

Arthur held his glass and smiled softly. "Eames, I don't think you'd believe me." Then his eyebrows furrowed. "What's a Gary Stu?"

Eames waved his hand dismissively. "Something that the intern at my office rambles on about. Ariadne says it's some undeveloped character. There are a whole lot of specifics, but pretty much a character that gets singled out for an amazing life despite doing nothing to deserve it."

He paused in thought and went on, "I already meet the gorgeous criteria so I might fit the bill."

Arthur gave him an appraising look and shrugged. Eames snorted and Arthur muttered, "The great writer in the sky would be extremely insulted."

"Would he?" Eames asked.

"She," Arthur corrected. "And yes she would be."

"I thought God was male." Eames took a gulp of his beer.

Arthur waved his hands as he explained. "Oh, he is. The great writer in the sky's his little girl."

Eames took polished off his beer and stared at the empty glass. "So she handles our lives?"

"Sort of, the angel that signed me up for this job was really terrible at explaining things." Arthur bit his lower lip, hesitating or remembering. Eames watched at perfect teeth toyed with full lips. Arthur supplied, "It's like he's the producer of a movie. He tells her what he wants in that movie and then she writes it out and directs it."

"Like that Nolan film?" He asked. He might have needed something stiffer.

"Like that Nolan film," Arthur confirmed with a wrinkle in his nose.

Eames jolted. "Wait, there was an introductory angel? Was she hot?"

Arthur raised an eyes brow with a frown gracing his lips. "No. He was married and looked like diCaprio."

"What did he tell you about…" Eames gestured to Arthur's form. Oddly enough, he'd never asked that question before. Actually, he did that the first time they met, but was bleeding far too much to make it coherent.

"This," Arthur gestured to himself, "is my spirit. It leaves my sleeping body when I go off collecting. It actually looks remarkably…"

Eames cut in, "So you are specially chosen?"

Arthur sighed, "Well, yes…"

"Is this like James Bond?"

"No, it's…"

Eames leaned in. "Can I get chosen?"

"The…"

"How are you sure you're not hallucinating the whole thing?"

Arthur twitched a little. "This…"

"How do you live a normal life?"

"I'm…"

"Did the angel squint?" Arthur placed his hand over Eames's mouth.

"One at a time!" Eames nodded and Arthur sighed.

"Actually, yes." He removed his hand and straightened his jacket. "We are chosen because we have relatively strong constitutions and too much time on our hands."

Eames watched Arthurs hands move across his jacket. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm usually at home, except for when I'm at work. Even then, I only work for a few months at a time." Arthur sipped his drink and tapped his finger restlessly. The watch on his wrist ticked away the seconds.

Eames glanced briefly at the time and whispered. "What kind of work do you do, darling?"

"Writing," Arthur replied.

"Writer!" Eames exclaimed. A few turned to look at him and he sheepishly tapped his Bluetooth. They looked mildly amused and returned to their business. Eames dropped to a whisper again. "And, you let me take you for a stick in the mud?"

Arthur snorted. "I write shallow scripts about stupid ideas idiotic producers come up with."

"So you're startlingly dull." Eames supplied. He took a swig of his beer.

Arthur shrugged. "I have a job that pays and another that lets me meet nice people. I can't complain."

Eames blushed and tapped away on his smartphone looking up every shallow, stupid, idiotic American film he could think of. "I'm going to have to imdb you."

"Go ahead." Arthur's foot began tapping. It maintained a metronome rhythm and Eames felt the cagey touch in the air. He tapped away ignoring the vampire films that were insults to film in general and the action ones that had no plot. Wait, those were the ones he should have been looking up.

"It is time?" Arthur turned to him. His eyes were dark and his hand tense.

He scowled. "Yeah."

Eames sighed and finished his drink. He knocked his knees with Arthur's knowing that the feeling of solidity would be gone any moment. "Well, then, see you around, darling."

Arthur looked at him under heavy lids. He reached out hand pressing against Eames's and lingering at the touch. "Yes, see you around, Mr. Eames."

He stood and strode with a malevolent prowl toward his hapless victim. Eames didn't bother to look. HE tapped away on his phone as the voices got louder and there was a crash. He didn't turn around when someone screamed. He just relayed to the operator that, yes, someone was bleeding to death on the floor. No, this wasn't a joke. Yes, the man wore product in his hair.

Well, she hadn't asked the last bit, but he supplied it anyway.

When the paramedics arrived and the men were being hauled away by officers, Eames was already on his way to the airport bags in hand. The travel season was off, thank Cobb, and he sped through to his hastily booked flight. He muttered into his phone in the meanwhile.

"Darn it. Pick up…" The receiver on the other end clicked and a drowsy voice replied.

"Hey, this is Arthur. It is three a.m. You better have a good reason for calling at three a.m." Eames grinned into the receiver.

"Arthur, darling, I was beginning to wonder if you were a dream." The terminal opened and the attendants signal first class to embark. Noise filled the terminal as people shuffled up and about.

"Eames?" Arthur's voice when he was surprised was sweet and sharp.

Eames watched as the line for first class shrunk and he took his place.

"Here's a riddle: You're waiting for a plane…"

He shut his phone. It was only a five hour flight and Arthur would be wide awake when the time came.

* * *

He was not surprised when a very tall and very pissed off man stood in the arrival terminal holding up a piece of printer paper with EAMES scrawled in loose letters. He was surprised to see the striking resemblance to JGL was not imagined and neither were the polished suits.

"How did you figure out which flight I was on?" Eames drawled earning a scowl from Arthur.

The man led him to his little eco-car. "It was a matter of how I remembered the dream. And which airport had planes coming in from that city. Then, I just looked for a specific name."

"Wouldn't you need to some hacking, my resourceful pet?" Eames pressed, shoving his luggage into the back seat. The car was clean, but filled with boxes and boxes of paper. Eames guessed scripts to be stripped and ruined by corporate big wigs.

"It was easy, Eames." Arthur started the car and Eames slid into the passenger seat. Darn the fact this was the only state in the union he could drive in.

"I really don't think you're cut out to be a script writer." Eames replied.

"No?" Arthur raised an eyebrow dodging traffic.

Eames grinned. "You see. I have this idea…"

And it was a brilliant idea.

* * *

And done. Wall's up.


End file.
